Near the main doors, Robby Keene leaned against the brick wall, one hand casually gripping the strap of his backpack. He wasn't even trying to look cool anymore. He'd been standing there for ten minutes, waiting.

For her.

Then he saw her—Y/N stepping out, squinting against the sun, her bag slung loose over one shoulder. Her hair caught the light in a way that made his chest tighten, quiet and steady and annoying as hell.

Three girls in unfamiliar uniforms—dark blazers, crisp skirts, from one of the private schools across town—had cut her off before she could reach the gate. They circled like wolves scenting prey.

Then the girl in the middle reached out and shoved Y/N's binder. It clattered to the ground, papers exploding across the asphalt like startled birds.

Y/N froze. She didn't reach for her things. She just stood there, shrinking back, shoulders curling inward.

Something snapped inside Robby. Not loud. Not violent. Just... final.